


Unscripted

by missbeizy



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Cockwarming, M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 10:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2107155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will is working.  Chris really wants to be fucked.  Cockwarming ensues. (At least, until their patience runs out.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unscripted

Chris sees the Starbucks cup on the counter in the kitchen and knows that his plans have been shot to hell. There's a Post-It on the rim of the cup that reads, "working — have to finish act 1 by 2 PM — inspired this morning woo!! babies are fed and coop is in his crate xo xo".

He sighs.

Clearly Will has yet to telepathically connect to his brain, despite all appearances to the contrary. So he does what he usual does—a whole bunch of random shit that he doesn't really need to do on his day off. He replies to emails. He tweaks outlines for a variety of story ideas. He picks out tomorrow's outfit. He texts Alla, and then a few friends. He heats up and drinks his chai.

It's almost painful how he anticipates days off the way a martyr anticipates sainthood, but the moment that he has free time he can't stop his brain from going and he has no idea what to do with that time other than waste it.

He'd had _ideas_ , is the thing. And then he'd rolled over onto Will's side of the bed and it had been empty.

He goes into his office and tries to work—there's a note on his laptop that says "you're on vacation remember? DON'T DO IT CHRISTOPHER!"—but he sits down in front of it anyway, opens his current project, and then does that thing where he stares at it for a while, spinning his ergonomic chair in circles and squeezing one of his Star Wars Angry Bird stress balls.

He's pretty sure that there isn't any anal sex in his current project.

He double-checks.

Nope. No anal sex.

He flops back into his chair, readjusting the weight of his throbbing dick against the front of his pants. His skin feels too tightly stretched over his bones and muscles, and no matter what he does he can't stop thinking about last night. He'd been too tired to do anything about it then, but during the night he'd woken up every few hours with his ass snug against Will's crotch, feeling the sleepy soft warmth of him, the weight of Will's arm around his waist, and _wanting_.

He remembers a time when he'd wondered what that urge would feel like, and then Will had taught him, and now it's as if he can't go a week without it, and—

Did he mention that he'd had _plans_?

His greedy body clearly has no concept of rejection. He gives up on trying to work, sheds his clothes and goes to take a shower. He doesn't need one; he just wants his hot, itchy skin to be bare, and he needs a distraction. Washing his hair is as good of an excuse as any other.

Except that kills about fifteen minutes, and by the time that he's done scrubbing himself clean his nipples are like glass, his dick is pulsing against his fingers, and he feels claustrophobic in the humidity of the bathroom.

He wraps a towel around his waist, and grabs the lubricant from a drawer in the bedside table.

He doesn't want to jerk off. Not when he has such a gorgeous, delightful boyfriend just upstairs. Not when what he wants isn't a quick orgasm. But he understands how important it is that they respect each other's work times—Will is so careful to leave him to it when he's on a roll—and it wouldn't hurt to play with himself a little, would it?

The bedroom is pleasantly cool, and with Cooper fed, walked, and crated he won't have any awkward interruptions. He closes his eyes and sprawls across the width of the bed, enjoying the soft bedspread beneath his naked, damp skin and the towel beneath his ass and thighs. He runs his hands over his body, pinching his nipples and tugging at the hair under his arms and between his legs until his skin goes bumpy.

It feels so good, especially when he thinks about Will, about the hard lines of his body, about his broad shoulders and thick chest and big hands, about his big dick and how it feels when it's inside, burning and pressing and stretching—

Chris inhales sharply, squeezes his balls until they ache, and then slips his dry fingers down lower, unable to curtail the desire to be touched there, to _feel_ there. He's warm and clean and eager, and when he twirls his fingertips in a dial around his rim and pucker he's shocked by the immediacy of the sensation, and lifts his legs up so that he can reach farther.

He bites his bottom lip in, feeling a flush steal over his face and neck, turns his cheek against his pillow and begins rubbing himself there, firm, direct strokes that make his throat swell with suppressed noise.

"Fuck," he hisses.

It quickly becomes not enough.

He squeezes out a dollop of the lubricant, and replaces his hand quickly before any of it can drip onto the bed. The cool liquid warms against his skin, and he angles his wrist higher and pushes one finger inside, not over thinking it the way that he still sometimes does.

" _Fuck_."

The burn doesn't last, so he adds a second, and then a third (which requires him to slow down), twisting his wrist and pushing his ass down around his fingers. It feels incredible, and he whines and spreads his legs and rocks his hips greedily.

This is enough for about three minutes. Fingers have never been his thing—too much sliding and movement and there-and-then-gone sensation, too much awkward work to get them to do what he wants them to do. He loves the blunt, unyielding press of larger things—toys, cocks.

He glances at the clock. It's not even noon. He wonders if Will has made enough progress to justify stopping for an early lunch.

_Shit. Fuck._

He _needs_ Will to fuck him. Right now.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he wipes off the excess lubricant, slides on a pair of boxer-briefs, and walks down the hall to Will's office.

He knocks on the door jamb, receives a soft "hmm?" in response, and walks inside.

Will is sitting in his desk chair, his laptop open in front of him. He's wearing boxers and a tank top and his hair is spiky from having been left to air-dry with no product after his morning shower.

Chris slinks up behind him and puts his hands on his shoulders, bending to kiss his head. "How's it going?"

"Mm, it's going," he replies, not looking away from the screen.

Chris slips in between him and the desk and straddles his lap, sitting down. "Good morning. Thank you for the tea."

That earns him a kiss. He slides his arms around Will's shoulders and takes another.

"You smell good." Will nuzzles into his neck and strokes his naked back. When Will's hands find the dip of his lower back, Chris cranes his ass up and Will takes the hint, sinking his fingers past the waistband of Chris' underwear to grab a handful of ass on either side. Chris squeaks, and lets himself be hauled deeper into Will's lap. "Babe, were you...?"

He wriggles his pelvis suggestively. "Maybe."

"I really, really need to finish this," Will replies, sounding both petulant and regretful.

"So keep typing," Chris says, edging his underwear down over his ass and along his thighs. He puts his legs one by one under and through the holes beneath the chair's arms, removing the underwear in the process of bracing his feet on the floor on either side of the chair. When he's settled he cups Will through his boxers and says, against his ear, "Want you in my ass."

With a groan and a laugh, Will retrieves a half-used tube of lubricant from his desk drawer and hands it to Chris, who palms it but doesn't open it. He doesn't think that he'll need it to start off; he's well-stretched and slick inside.

He takes Will's soft cock out of the slit in the front of his boxers and begins stroking him. "I don't see any work getting done. Keep going. Every line that you write gets me on your dick faster."

"Oh my god," Will gasps, and puts his hands on the keyboard.

Over his shoulder, Chris watches the lines of dialogue crawl across the screen with one eye, and with the other he watches his own hand guiding Will's stiffening cock in between his cheeks. He takes his time, rutting the split of his ass up and down the shaft until Will's hands are faltering on the keys, and only then does he let the wide crown settle against his hole and dig in. His ass wants to swallow every inch of it, but he holds back as promised.

Will is breathing quickly and making an obvious effort to not thrust up, his fingers tapping the laptop at an increasingly sloppy pace.

"Half a page, not bad," Chris drawls, rocking up and down, rubbing the head into his pucker.

The pressure feels incredible. His whole body is flushed, and the desire to be stuffed full of a hard cock is making his brain work slower, but he's determined.

Finally, he can't take it anymore. Will is still typing.

The chair creaks when he digs his toes into the carpet and rocks down, letting the head of Will's cock pop inside. They both inhale audibly and stop moving. Chris threads his fingers into Will's hair. Will's hands spasm on the keyboard.

"I'm going to sit down onto your cock," he says, sinking, sinking, sinking, and oh fuck yes that's it, that's what he's been wanting all morning, this burning stretch, this pressure filling every inch of him, "but you're going to keep writing until you finish, okay? Don't come. Don't move."

"Okay," Will gasps.

Chris works his hips and ass back and forth until he's snug in Will's lap, his ass stuffed, and only then does he grab another smear of lubricant to lessen the pinch. Will whimpers, but doesn't stop typing, and Chris trembles, perched on the balls of his feet and Will's lap, letting himself thoroughly enjoy the feeling of Will's cock balls-deep inside of him.

He's not sure if Will gets it at first. But after ten minutes of Chris just there, holding him and throbbing around his cock, he accepts it. And there's no way that Chris is changing his mind—he has a plan and he's sticking to it.

He falls into a kind of daze, his head on Will's shoulder, breathing deep and slow and even, little shifts of their bodies offering the tiniest teases of friction. He's sweating, and his leg muscles are screaming, but it feels so good. Will is the perfect length and girth for this.

Chris kisses the slice of skin just above Will's collarbone. "Mm—almost there?" He hitches his hips a minute fraction, letting Will feel the clamp of his body.

"Shit," Will hisses, dropping one hand to Chris' ass. "Yeah, close enough. Move? Please, move."

Chris wraps one hand around the top of the chair and rolls his hips forward, working Will's dick out to the tip and then back in with a single thrust. The sensation of drag and movement after so long being full makes his nerves crackle. He whines. The hand that he has in Will's hair tugs.

"Oh, fuck, yes," he breathes, rising and falling. "Don't move yet. Want to fuck myself on it."

Will makes a garbled, overwhelmed noise and leans back, holding onto the back of Chris' thigh.

Chris loses himself in the ever-increasing tempo of the squeak of the chair beneath them, letting the heat of their union bake his body. Will doesn't move, allows him to do exactly as he wants, taking his cock deeper and faster only to stop all at once and reset the rhythm, going back to slow front to back sweeps and then switching to full pelvis rolls a moment later. Anything to keep the friction going, anything to make him feel it.

By the time that Will cracks, Chris is sweat-soaked and panting.

"Not enough," he moans, pawing at Chris' wide chest. "Fuck, not enough, come on, let me..."

"Yeah?" Chris asks, smiling slyly. "What're you gonna do about it, huh?"

In one smooth motion Will sits forward, grasps Chris by the back of his thighs, lifts him and sets him down on an empty patch of desk. Chris makes a high-pitched noise of surprise as Will widens the empty space so that he can press him back even farther over the desk, bending over his trembling body to kiss him, licking hungrily into his mouth.

"Tease," Will hisses, pushing Chris' legs up, and then hooking them over his shoulders. Chris yanks Will's boxers down around his thighs, overcome by the sight of his gorgeous body and those brown eyes blown black at the center.

"God, fuck me," he groans, lifting up eagerly. "Fuck me, fuck me hard."

"Bossy, bossy. You had your fun. My turn." Will grins, kisses the inside of his knee and then pushes back inside of him.

He gasps, bracing one hand against the desk and the other on Will's chest. "Oh, god—"

And then everything starts to shake as Will fucks into him at a rapid clip, sending rushes of hot sensation through his body and making his cock stiffen on his belly. He reaches down and wraps his hand around himself, letting the motion of Will's body rocking into him set the pace. He hooks his knees farther over Will's shoulders, loving the way that it feels to be bent and spread. Will fucks him aggressively, and when the backs of his knees grow too sweaty to hold, he pushes Chris' legs back to his ears, leaning over him and fucking him down into the desk.

"Oh my god," Chris whines, not caring that he's squeaking or that he can't breathe, it just feels so good. He hooks one hand around the back of Will's neck and holds on, their damp, hot foreheads pressing together as Will hammers into him. "Oh my god, perfect, so perfect, oh fuck, don't stop, don't stop, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come—"

Will stops. Chris wails, his voice cracking, and squirms.

"You were asking for that one," Will says, grinning.

"You asshole!"

"Actually, if we're being technical, it's _your_ asshole—"

Chris growls, swatting his shoulder with a limp hand. Will drags him off of the desk by his hips and turns him around, bending him forward over the desk. Chris gasps in surprise, and flings out a hand to the far edge of the desk to steady himself. Will reaches around for his cock with his left hand, and guides his own back into Chris' slack, flushed hole with his right.

"Come on, baby, just want to give you what you need a little longer, okay?" he says, rocking Chris' plump, round ass up and down his dick. "That's what you needed, right? My big hard dick in your tight little ass?"

Chris whines, spreads his legs, and takes it. "Yes. Fuck, yes, please."

He plants his feet on the carpet and whimpers through every hard thrust that brings their bodies together, Will's balls tapping his skin and swaying sac. Will knows just how to fuck him, how deep to stay in so that all he feels is heat and pressure and not too much catch on his sensitive rim.

The tension has reset somewhat, but Will's hand on him is quickly getting him there again.

"Come on my cock," Will breathes, pressing the middle of Chris' back to flatten him against the glass desktop.

Whimpering, Chris tightens up. He's so close and fuck, Will is so fucking strong, he can hardly stay steady on the desk against the force of his body's thrusting. He closes his eyes and lets the pleasure coil, lets his body feel it, and before Will can say anything else he's coming hard, fucking himself through Will's thick fist and sobbing to the far wall. It so's much, his ass pulsing around Will's dick with every jolt, loving having something to clamp up around. The glass beneath him is streaked with cloudy white. Will's hands push his ass up, grip his cheeks and spread them and then push them together again.

"Oh, fuck, so fucking tight, fuck, fuck, I'm—"

Chris bends his back and tightens his hole. "Come on. Come on. Fill my ass up."

The thrill of Will coming inside of him never quite loses its edge—his heart is roaring in his ears and he's holding onto the edge of the desk and Will's body is pressing him down and in and he feels so fucking perfect, and then there's that rush of unparalleled intimacy when Will gets close and then begins to shoot inside of him, trembling muscles and hot skin rutting against the curve of his ass, the pulse of Will's cock inside, the slick wet feeling as he works himself back and forth on Will's cock. Some of Will's come dribbles out and drips down his balls, and he whimpers.

"Fuck," Will groans, his hands on Chris' waist. He thrusts his cock in and out of Chris' ass.

Chris' knees wobble. "Shit, that was—"

"Amazing," Will finishes.

"Wet nap?"

"It would be, if we napped right now."

Chris giggle-snorts. "Will."

"I got it, I got it," Will says, reaching for one of the individually wrapped hand wipes that live in his desk drawer. They clean up the desk and themselves, making sure that nothing got on the laptop, and then tug their underwear back on.

Chris sits gingerly in Will's lap, practically purring at the residual ache. It's glorious. It had been just what he'd wanted.

"Did you actually finish act one?" he asks, smiling, and kissing into Will's sweaty hair.

"Sure," Will replies. "Of course, the last scene is mostly keymash..."

"That's so method."

"I'll just tell them that my boyfriend desperately needed to get fucked."

"I will change the font to Wingdings and email it in. I will do that, sir, if you force my hand."

"Never. Your addiction to neat formatting rules your life."

Chris deflates, curling himself in on Will's lap, his feet dangling to the floor. "Too fucked out to argue your logic."

"Alright, gorgeous," Will says, swatting Chris lightly on his ass. "A certain puppy needs to be walked, and I'm guessing that a certain daddy is not up for that in his current state?"

Chris falls onto his feet in exaggerated distress, gives Will a pout and smooths the front of his tank top down. "I'll order us lunch?"

"Please not Thai," Will says, searching for a t-shirt and a pair of sweats.

"God, no. Think of my ass. My poor, poor ass,” Chris says, cocking his hip and waving his hand.

"I will think of your ass," Will says, kissing Chris' cheek before sliding into a pair of sneakers. "The whole time we're apart I will think very seriously about your ass." He winks.

Chris bites his lip until he's alone, and then lets out an overwhelmed, breathless little laugh.


End file.
